ROOM 8472
by HungryForMore74
Summary: All prisoners enter ROOM 8472. Not all prisoners return.
1. Chapter 1

**Room 8472**

"Prisoner MKS3S1401B0650. Hands."

I put my hands through the slot and he put the handcuffs on my wrist. I like Guard 365, he never puts them on too tight. He opens the door and puts me at the front of the line of six prisoners. He shackles me at the hip and we walk in unison. We resemble a conga line from a Latin nightclub.

"Hey, 650, how you feel?" Prisoner 482 says.

I shrugged. "Not bad, I guess," 482 is the closest thing to a best friend I have in prison. He's tall and thin as a rail. His rounded shoulders and gaunt look make him appear older than his age of forty. Being a chain smoker hasn't helped him either.

I, on the other hand, have kept myself in better shape than most prisoners. I exercise and eat everything they put in front of me. No matter how bland or spicy, burnt or raw, watery or dry the meal is. I'm a model prisoner, never got a mark against me in the twenty-five years of my imprisonment.

"Let's go prisoners. Move faster, we can't keep the committee waiting." Guard 365 says.

We enter the long hallway after we leave the cell area. I scrunch my nose when the urine smell hits me. I never got used to ammonia flowing through my nostrils.

"Here we are. Room 8472." They lead us through the door. "Sergeant 210, here are the prisoners."

We're in a waiting room with a row of steel benches against the wall. There is a large oak counter with desks behind it. A guard stands behind it handling files. Seven files, I assume mine is one of them.

"Thank you," 210 says. Sergeant 210 is a hulking man whom I've never seen before. He must work only in the administrative section. His bald, dome-like head resembles a bullet. "Prisoners, bend your heads forward."

Another guard scans the bar code on the back of our neck. I had mine tattooed on as soon as I entered the prison. At that point, I lost my name and went by my serial number. We shorten it to the last few digits for ease.

They unshackle us and we sit down. He cuffs us to the bench. I recognize a few of the other prisoners. The man on the other side of 482 is young. I think he's only been here for a few years. He's stocky with muscular arms. He's an enforcer for one of the gangs. The gangs don't bother me; I always pay my tribute on time.

482 looks at the seven of us. He pokes me and asks. "Which ones of do you think aren't coming out of the room?" Only about half of the prisoners ever return from Room 8472. We don't know if you're executed on the spot or transferred out and killed later.

I look at my fellow inmates and shrug. "I dunno."

The inmates that return from Room 8472 say you walk in, an official reviews your file and then they return you to your cell. They don't ask you any questions. Nobody seems to know the purpose of bringing you in if they already made up their minds.

"Hey, do you think I have a chance?" Six pairs of eyes turn to a young inmate I don't recognize. His thin angular body has yet to assume the hunched over look most of us acquire.

"What are you talking about?" 482 looks at the number on his shirt, "955."

"Being released," 955 says.

"Are you insane, man? If they don't bring you back from Room 8472 they bring you to the cremation oven." 482 corrected.

"Really, cremation? I thought they buried you?" 354 says.

"No, I heard they harvest your organs then they process you into cat food." 778 adds.

"No, no, no! That can't be!"

"How long you been here?" I ask.

"Six months."

"You sound like every other newb." 482 says.

I think the odds are with me. I've been a perfect prisoner all this time. I even received an award from Captain 37 for saving another prisoner from choking in the dining room.

"I keep asking 'why me?' I don't get it. I've been good." 482 says. "Not as good as you 650, but still good."

"Prisoner XED5T4539G1778, go in." The guard uncuffs him from the bench and leads him in. He was at the other end of the bench, I wonder if I'll be last.

"Good luck 778." Some of us say. Though none of us care that much.

I wipe my hands on my pants, but I can't dry them. 482's rapid foot taps is making it worse. I clear my throat, "Um, 482, could you slow it down?" He opened his eyes wide. I look at his leg.

"Oh, sorry." He keeps still, but only for a minute.

778 exits the room and the guard takes him out. "One down, six of us to go," 482 says.

"GDD5S8693G011354. You're next."

"Hey, good luck." He nods as he walks by us.

Thirty minutes pass and 482 and I are the only ones left. 482's leg is tapping faster now. Sweat is pouring down his brow and his pupils are the size of 8 balls.

"The first four all went back. That means we're done for. I can feel it. Shit!"

I don't tell him to relax. It would be useless, he's not even aware of me anymore.

"FMR8E6655T657482. You're next."

482 swings to me. He clenches his teeth so hard they might crack.

"354 didn't come out! What did I tell you!"

The second the guard uncuffs him he grabs the gun. They roll on the floor as they struggle. Other guards converge on the pair when a gunshot goes off. The guards step back. 482 lies on the floor with blood flowing from his chest. One of the guards puts pressure on the wound.

"Call for the med team now!" screams Sergeant 210. "And get him outta here!"

They uncuff me and haul me to an empty conference room. "Sit here."

I try to clear my head of all thoughts, but 482's dead black eyes keep reappearing. I can't shake them.

"In with the good air, out with the bad," I say over and over.

"Good morning."

"Ah!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did we startle you?" A large rotund man with black-rimmed glasses says.

"A little. I'm okay." I say.

"We figured we'd meet in here after that kerfuffle in the waiting room." He pushes his glasses from the tip of his nose back up. "I'm committee member HHY3531U658761." He introduces the other two members of the committee. A stern looking woman who hasn't taken her eyes off a writing pad and a similarly disinterested man.

"Well, we reviewed your file and ..."

Here it comes. My last day on earth. The only thing that crosses my mind was, how will they do it? Firing squad, gas chamber, hanging, drawn and quartered ... A smile appears on my face as I giggle inside. Why did I bring up a medieval form of torture?

"I can see by the smile on your face that you're pleased," Mr. 761 says.

"What?" I say.

"By your release, of course" He looks at the file. "Um, your name is Peeta, do you have a nickname?"

I cock my head. What do they call me? "No, no nickname. They call me Peeta."

"Well, Peeta, you have a big day ahead of you. Miss Everdeen will take you from here."

A middle age woman appears in the door behind the committee. She has dark brown eyes and long brown hair to match. She holds a clipboard close to her chest. Her blue dress stands out against the grays of the prison. "Come on Peeta. The first thing we have to do is remove your barcode."

The guard uncuffs me and extends his arm like he's an usher showing me to my seat. I stay frozen in my chair, still having trouble with what's just transpired. She smiles and holds out her hand. I take it and follow Miss Everdeen.

"Good luck Peeta. Hope to never see you again." 761 says before laughing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II**

"Welcome back to society Mr. Mellark."

Miss Everdeen's smile is wide. She seems genuinely happy for me. But I assume she's just as happy whenever anyone is released from prison.

"I'm your social worker. I'll be right next to you for the next couple of days to guide you through the re-entry process. And after that you can call me anytime to help you with any problems as you become acclimated to society."

She walks in front of me and swings her hips. Her blue dress clings in just the right places. We saw women in the prison every once in a while, but there was always an inch-thick piece of glass or steel bars as a barrier.

"Thank you," I say.

"Your welcome Mr. Mellark." She giggles and sports a grin. "I have to admit I enjoy my job. The men I work with are pretty appreciative." She opens a door and leads me in. "First we'll remove that nasty barcode tattoo."

I'm greeted by a young man whose tattoos cover every inch of his neck and appear to continue under his hair.

"You remove tattoos?"

He laughs. "Yeah, it's my day job."

"And your night job?"

"I put them back on."

I narrow my eyes.

"But for fun, not for identification." His easy manner relaxes me. "Come on here. Lay face down. It'll sting a little."

* * *

"That wasn't so bad," Miss Everdeen says as she runs her hand across my neck and through my hair. It tickles, but I resist giggling. "You'll have a little scar, but you can let your hair grow a little long and cover it."

"Let's get you a new set of clothes."

"Good. My prison grays sorta stand out."

* * *

"Hello, Miss Everdeen; who have you brought me this time?" We're met by a wiry middle-aged man with thinning hair and beaming eyes. His translucent skin reflects the sun coming through the store windows.

"Hello, Mr. Taylor, this is Mr. Mellark. He's reentering society." She winks.

"Oh, that is so nice. Let's step over here and let me measure you." Mr. Taylor bounces to a platform. I step up and put my arms out. He measures every part of my body. "The last time I got a suit was for my high school graduation."

"The last time I got a suit was for my high school graduation."

He takes all of my measurements. "I'll be right back." Mr. Taylor glided to his work room.

I leaned down to Miss Everdeen. "Let me get this straight. Mr. Taylor is a tailor."

She giggles and covers her mouth, "yeah. It's pretty funny. Everyone, I bring in here says the same thing." While we share a laugh I notice how dark and bright her eyes are.

She slaps my arm, "shhhh, here he comes."

Mr. Taylor hands me a stack of clothes. "Pick out something to wear and change in the fitting room."

"I'm not sure what to wear." I look up and see her sympathetic eyes staring at me.

She picks out a pair of jeans and a polo. I can't keep my eyes off her. "I think you can pick out your own underwear and socks."

"Oh, yeah." I scurry off to change.

"You look very nice."

"Yeah, and they fit."

"Take these now and I'll call you when your suits are ready."

"Thank you, Mr. Taylor." She takes my arm and leads me out.

* * *

After lunch, she escorts me to my new apartment. "Take the keys, it's yours now."

I stare at the keys and run my fingers over the ridges. I haven't held a set of keys in years. The keys in the prison were attached to a cable that went around the guard like a belt. The ends were locked together by the sergeant with his own set of keys.

"Something wrong Mr. Mellark?"

"No. Just thinking." I unlock the door and she gently presses the small of my back. "Wow, not bad."

"I realize that it's a little small, but it's home."

Home, a place to call my own. A place I can have some privacy. A place to leave and then come back to. "Less to keep clean."

"That's the spirit," she says.

She shows me around. All the appliances are small but perfect for a single guy. I sit on the bed. "It's really comfortable."

She sits next to me. "It is."

"Um, thanks for lunch, it was good."

"Hey, no problem," we get up and she leans on the door frame; she strokes my arm with a featherlight touch. My knees almost buckle.

"Listen, can we have lunch or dinner again," I ask.

She smiles and takes a deep breath. That is not a good sign; my heart sinks.

"Sure, maybe over the weekend. After you've had a few days at work and a few nights in your own bed." My heart pounds. "So, I'll meet you in the morning to bring you to work Mr. Mellark."

"Please, call me Peeta."

"And I'm Katniss. Good night Peeta."

"Good night Katniss."

She closes the door as she leaves.

I feel like jumping for joy on my bed, but I'd hit the ceiling. I cross the room and open the drapes.

My eyes dart from side to side. "Where's the window?" I cross the room and open the other drapes. "There are no windows. Why aren't there any windows?"

I turn the doorknob, but the door doesn't budge. I bang on the door. "Hey! The door is locked! Let me out!

"Hello, Mr. Mellark." I spin around. Miss Everdeen appears on the tv screen.

"Why am I locked in?"

"I'm surprised you didn't recognize me, but your trial was more than twenty years ago."

"I don't understand."

"I sat in the gallery at your trial. I never took my eyes off you. I wanted to see if you showed one ounce of remorse."

Her eyes narrow. I struggle to remember, but I don't recognize her. "I remember a woman staring at me, but not you. She had these steel gray eyes that sent shivers down my spine."

"You mean like these." She takes out her brown tinted contacts and glares at me. The memories from a half a lifetime ago flood my thoughts. "Remember me now?"

I nod my head.

"You can imagine my amazement when your file came into our office. It didn't take much work to get assigned to your case."

"But why are you doing this?"

"You lost my family's fortune."

"Your family? I don't understand. The company was owned by the Hawthornes."

"That was my uncle. He and my aunt brought me up. They were like my parents." I stand in stunned silence. "He was so despondent from your actions he took his own life. After he was gone my aunt lost her will to live."

"I ... I ... I wasn't the only one."

"I know that. You're very lucky not to meet the same fate as Reilly or Caruthers. I hope you weren't too close."

I sit on my bed and let my head droop. I muster enough energy to look back at her. Her steel gray eyes send chills through me again like it was twenty-five years ago all over again.

"But I paid my debt to society."

"But not your debt to me."

* * *

the end

la fin

el fin

het einde

slutet

fim


End file.
